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Staring up into the summer's sky it was easy to forget, to pretend there was nothing but this: a clear sky, the smell of summer in the air and love - 'truth is what you make it', she'd heard it say and in the here and now, she felt she might almost believe that, if only summer could last long enough, longer than a day and a night, stolen.

"We should probably get back soon," he told her, gaze still on the sky, seeing infinity (or so she assumed; he was staring at the same sky she was, after all; it stood to reason he saw the same things in it that she did, felt the same feelings she did).

"Yes, sir," she said.

But not just yet hung in the air, unspoken, like summer and love - of some things, there was no need to speak.